


A Crooked Crime

by NerdyPuddinCup



Category: The Conjuring (Movies)
Genre: Detective Noir, Detectives, Great Depression, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyPuddinCup/pseuds/NerdyPuddinCup
Summary: Chief Inspector Charles Ringwald has been around the block once or twice, but now his brother-in-law is at the center of a grisly murder suicide. Perhaps there are darker forces at work here?
Kudos: 2





	A Crooked Crime

The year was 1931. The Great Depression was just beginning to overwhelm England. Many were out of work, many didn’t have jobs to go back to, many panicked and took drastic measures. Truly it was a terrible time for the world over. It was because of this horrible crisis that when Chief Inspector Charles Ringwald was called into a scene of an apparent murder suicide, he wasn’t at all surprised to hear such tragedy.

Chief Inspector Ringwald had seen what this collapse had done to the good people of the nation. Suicide rates were up as the economy was down. Lower than it had been before, since the UK had yet to fully recover from that costly world conflict. The scene took place in White Chapel, where only 43 years hence the streets were plagued by Jack the Ripper. The end of a cigarette went to the Inspector’s mustached lips to take a drag as he stepped out of his vehicle in front of the flat where the grisly event had taken place. He was greeted by first responders. Young coppers who hadn’t seen anything this horrid just yet. “Run me through it.” Ringwald told one of his comrades.

` ”Ah y~yes sir.” A blonde haired and baby faced Constable stepped forward. “Family of four all dead inside. Apparant murder suicide sir.” The young cop cleared his throat before continuing. “Derek Baxter aged 43 with his wife Edna 38, and two kids Brexton 16 and Louise 6.” He handed Ringwald a family photo that had been taken from inside. The older man studied it and frowned. A handsome looking family befalling such a tragedy. Even as experienced as he was, it still turned his stomach to think about that.

“We found Derek up in the attic area.” The Constable pointed up to the top window of the flat. “Seems he hung himself in the rafters.” Ringwald nods along as the two men approach the house. “Down on the main floor Edna was found in the kitchen. Stab wound to the stomach and her skill bashed into the counter.” Ringwald tsk’d at that. “Brexton was found in his bedroom, a bit of a mess. Another stab wound matching the wound found in the mother’s abdomen, but it had to be long enough to pierce the boy, the mattress, and even leave a mark on the floor beneath it sir.”

“And the girl?”

“Well sir, she’s missing. Can’t find her. There’s blood in her bedroom but so far we can find no signs of Louise Baxter.” How utterly odd. What did the sick bastard do with his daughter?

“Have you identified the murder weapon yet?”

“No sir, not yet. We thought maybe the fire poker but there haven’t been any traces of blood on it and it doesn’t seem to match the puncture wounds observed so far.”

“I see.” Ringwald said and then gently placed his hand onto the young man’s shoulder. “It doesn’t get easier to stomach these things lad. If they do, then you’ll be a bit touched yourself. Go on home, get some rest. I’m going to go do a walkthrough.” He patted the Constable’s shoulder before shooing him away. Taking one final long drag of his cigarette, he dropped the butt on the ground and stomped it out with the toe of his shoe. A sigh escaped the man’s lips before finally crossing the threshold into the house.

There was an odd feeling that crept the spine of the Inspector. He’d been through hundreds of crime scenes in his time, but there was something that he couldn’t shake off about this one. A strange energy that seemed to be pressing down upon the entire flat. It made it hard to breathe and his footfalls heavier than he’d think they should be. Perhaps it was because a family had been brutally snuffed out, perhaps it was because the little girl was missing, or something he wasn’t seeing yet. Whatever the reason, he had to contend with the shiver that was pressing itself on his spine. The first stop on his tour would be the kitchen, the scene of the wife’s slaying.

The bodies had already been removed before Ringwald had arrived, but the house was still very much in the state it had been in the aftermath. So, entering the kitchen the Inspector took note of the circular shape that had been broken off from the countertop. Running his finger upon the cool surface, he realized that it was a granite piece and a thick one at that. The force necessary to make the woman’s head come crashing through that in such a fashion would be incredible; Though not impossible. Throughout his career, Ringwald had bore witness to the unpredictable nature of endorphins and a manic state.

Around the perimeter of the hole were dried droplets of blood. Below on the floor where the rubble was, there was even more. He looked at the crime scene photo he’d been handed by the Constable and held it up to match what he was looking at. The wife’s head had been flattened like a proverbial pancake. The sight of it activated his gag reflex, but quickly the man swallowed down the sensation. Though the CSI had already gone through with their tools, his vomit at the scene would not at all be welcomed. Even with the increased strength of a manic state, this was a bit beyond the realm of reason. He couldn’t have done this with just his bare hands. It seemed rather impossible. With a shake of his head, he put away the photo and went about his tour.

The house had shown no visible signs of forced entry. It made sense with the going theory that it was the patriarch of the house who committed these horrid things. But why? Why had he done these things? To his own flesh and blood. So many questions, and not a whole lot of answers just yet. There was still time, or was there? The little girl was still missing. Was she hidden away by the father or did she run away for her own safety? Again more questions were piling up in the Inspector’s mind. He tried to shake off the uneasy feeling he had but it just wasn’t going away. Not without some help from his good friend gin that he had stored away in his car.

Up the stairs he went. No need to explore the rest of the house. The others had already picked the place apart. What Charles wanted to see were the areas that the deaths had taken place. Any new insight he could possibly provide would surely help in the matter. Most of all he wanted to know why? After all, Derek was his brother-in-law. Vanessa, his wife’s baby brother. While never close with the man, it didn’t seem like this was something he was capable of. Even when Vanessa regaled him about tales of him being an angry drunk. There were no alcohol bottles found within the house, he’d been a recovering alcoholic it seemed now.

Next stop, the bedroom of the oldest child, Brexton. His room was that of a typical teenager. A facade of clean decency, but crime scene photos revealed a pipe for the use of marijuana. The photos showed that he had been killed on the bed. A single puncture wound similar to what had happened to the mother, but nothing quite as dramatic as the head smashing. Just died in his bed. Dried blood covered the mattress. The look on his face, frozen in pure terror. Seeing his father ready to kill him must surely have been a traumatic experience for the short time he was still living to even register.

Onto the sister’s room. Maybe, hopefully there was something in here that would give him a clue. The room was exactly what you’d expect from a little six year old’s room. Pink and covered in flowers. Ringwald stroked his mustache as his eyes scanned the room. He opened a drawer on the small nightstand beside her bed. Within were papers, a bunch of them. He pulled them out and looked. It was drawings, most likely from the little girl. There was your typical stuff, family, houses, pretty birds. But, as he peeled the pictures back they started to get a little darker.

The first one that caught the Inspector’s attention was a drawing that appeared to be Derek beating on his wife. The man labeled ‘dady’ was very angry and punching ‘mums’. There was a little blonde girl he assumed was little Louise in the corner of the drawing with blue coming down her blacked out face. The next one was of the same little blonde girl with something in her hands. It was hard to make out exactly from the crude crayon sketch. But whatever she was holding, there was a large red stick figure rising up from it. There was a big title in bright crayon that read ‘MY NEW FRIEND’. Louise needed to make a friend all her own if her father was hurting them. The next drawing was of the same red stick figure in a pose. The thing was bent and turned in weird directions. The title on this one was ‘HE DANCES FUNNY’.

Finally, onto the last one. This was...different. The red stick figure was back in the center with ‘dady’ being lifted up by his neck by the taller thing. It of course makes sense that Louise would want to make her new imaginary friend some sort of protector. But, the thing that was concerning was that ‘mums’ and ‘brextun’ had their eyes crossed out and red crayon scribbled over them. Then he saw the dad again in the picture. He was being hung up by her friend. She had seen him hang himself? Was this how she was interpreting the grisly events? Charles’s heart bled for the poor child. No one should ever have to deal with something like that. His mind started to drift to his boy Dennis back at home, and how much it would kill him to have his son witness such horrors.

Charles was so distracted by the pictures that he didn’t pay attention to his footing as he paced around the room. His foot caught something and sent him down onto the ground with the papers flying everywhere. “Bugger me!” He cursed under his breath as he sat up. He turned around to look at just what had tripped him up. His eyes turned to an old looking Zoetrope. His eyebrow raised as he got closer. He reached out and took the toy in his hands. Within the top were images of a lanky figure in a hat that carried an umbrella in various stages of walking. When cranked, the Zoetrope would no doubt make it seem that the man was walking. The lanky figure in the images reminded him of Louise’s new friend. This must’ve been how she got the idea. For his own amusement and curiosity, he reached for the crank and began to turn it.

Electronic voices clanged out an old nursery rhyme.

There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile.

He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.

He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,

and they all lived together in a little crooked house.

The music began in soft notes, and the circular part spun. The motion of the circular part spun around so fast that it appeared that the little figure was walking along just as Charles assumed would happen. As the rhyme came to an end, the walking stick figure seemed to vanish from sight, having finished his stroll. At that moment, the Zoetrope ceased moving and the lights shut off. The air around the room, already full of emptiness and heavy feelings slowly started to change. There was a feeling of oppressiveness in the air that began to grow and grow. It was all consuming. Ringwald took another peak at the Zoetrope. The images were gone, there was no figure like he had seen before. Had he imagined it? His own mind just wanting an explanation for Louise’s ominous drawings? With a sigh, he stood up. There was only one more place to go now, the attic.

Little did the Inspector know, a doorway had been opened.

Out into the hallway, out of the corner of his eye Charles swore that he had seen something. Turning around, there was nothing at all. Cleary being in this place alone was starting to affect him. He desperately wanted to get out of there and have a smoke. Heading back down he caught a glimpse of something again. It moved in the room. His eyes widened and his heart began to race. He being a police officer in the UK meant he didn’t carry a gun. So, he had to use other things as he approached. “Alright you, c’mon out with your bloody hands up where I can see them! Pip pip!” There was no response but as Ringwald approached the other person moved again now out of sight. It was dark in the room where the other was. Hard to tell what lay ahead. “You had your chance mate. I’m coming in!” Grabbing hold of the door hand he waited for some kind of response. After a moment of silence he threw open the door and looked around.

There was a face staring back at him.

A moment of panic quickly dissipated when he realized it was his own. Flicking on the lights, Ringwald realized that it was indeed a bathroom that he was looking at. He rolled his eyes and threw his face into his own palm. “Jesus Christ Chucky.” He groaned. Still, there was a feeling of him being watched. Though he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, he felt as if the house itself was laughing at him. “Should just call it a night lad. Nothing you can do here anyways.” He said to himself, just trying to break the heavy silence that surrounded him. He decided not to take his own advice and instead head up to the attic and complete his walkthrough of the crime scene.

The ladder leading up to the attic was worn and crickety. He felt as if he was leading himself up to the gallows. Since, in a way he actually was. This was the room where Derek had done himself in, unable to live with the guilt of taking the lives of his beautiful family. Reaching to his photos he pulled out the one of his brother-in-law and held it up to the rafter where he’d done it. “Tsk. Cowardly sick bastard. Hope you rot in Hell.” From a shadowed corner of the room came the sound of something cracking and popping. Over and over again like sticks being pulled and broken and then pulled again. And, from the look of it it could very well have been sticks. Two long branch like arms slowly pulled themselves from the darkness. Incredibly long and inhumanly skinny limbs. The hands on the end were grayed and pulled over long bones. The hands reached out to opposite walls. Then came long legs very much in the same vein as the arms. Lanky and utterly skinny. The clothes on the figure were tattered, dulled over time. Red pinstripes with old timey shoes on large feet.

Then, the figure pulled itself from the shadows. In its hands was a big red umbrella that was bent in several different places along it with a sharpened point at the end that was silver and also bent. Most of its face was obstructed by a matching red bowler cap with spectacles on top of the rim. Twin holes were burned in where its eyes should be. What could be seen of its features was utterly gruesome. On the paled and wrinkled flesh of its head was a black lipped mouth filled of jagged and razor sharp teeth. The mouth was upturned into a wide and disturbing grin as it stared down with no eyes at the man. The head turned to the right with audible cracks until it sat on a 90 degree angle. A cackling came from the throat of the beast.

Staring at this thing, Ringwald’s mind could barely comprehend it. He was never a believer in the supernatural before. He always believed that everything has a logical explanation. That those that believe in all that ghost and demon poppycock should be thrown in with the rest of the loonies at Ravenscar asylum. But now, his entire world view was shattered as he looked at the manifestation of Louise’s drawings. It dawned on him in a moment that it wasn’t Derek who had done his family in. No, it was this abomination to God’s plan that had done so. This crime against nature who stared at the Inspector and grinned so disturbingly at him. A long arm shot out quickly, the hook of the tall man’s umbrella found its way around Ringwald’s ankle and with a swift motion, once more the Inspector was tripped up and sent hard onto the floor.

The crooked figure leered over Charles and at that moment he felt like a little boy again. He could feel the thick globs of drool dripping down from the maw of the man and landing on his chest and moving upwards. “The crooked figure leered over Charles and at that moment he felt like a little boy again. He could feel the thick globs of drool dripping down from the maw of the man and landing on his chest and moving upwards. “Hullo there mate. Fine evening innit?” The voice of the man was a horrid scratchy mess that seemed to echo throughout the entire house not just the room that the two occupied. The fact that it could communicate made it worse in Charles’s mind. This thing was running on pure instinct, but a sheer malicious drive. It enjoyed what it did and was fully aware of it.

“Wh~where is Louise?!” Shouted Charles, demanding to know about the girl. The question seemed to confuse the crooked figure. The wrinkled head snapped back into a ‘normal’ position and the grin went away from his face. A long gray digit then tapped upon the thing’s chin in a rather thoughtful manner for a moment.

““Pardon my surprise mate. Not often I get questions like that. Usually all I get is…” The dark grin returned, “‘What are you’? And ‘why?’” The damned thing cackled again at that. Ringwald’s entire body froze, his stomach was in knots a natural reaction to pure unadulterated horror. “” The damned thing cackled again at that. Ringwald’s entire body froze, his stomach was in knots a natural reaction to pure unadulterated horror. “As for the wee-lass. She’s here, safe for the time being. She needed my help in the worst way mate. Dear old daddy was doing really bad things. And they call me a monster. So, I came and I sorted that nasty business right out.” So, she was alive at least. Ringwald attempted to move but the pointed end of the umbrella was placed down on his neck and the tall figure’s head shook slowly. “” So, she was alive at least. Ringwald attempted to move but the pointed end of the umbrella was placed down on his neck and the tall figure’s head shook slowly. “There was a crooked man, who walked a crooked mile. He met a crooked cop, who’s head made a crooked pop! He was torn apart by his crooked seams, and forced to live his crooked dreams!”

Blood began to flow from the mouth of Chief Inspector Charles Ringwald. His eyes moved in a frantic fashion as he felt the bladed tip cut into him over and over again as those long spidery arms swung back and forth. His thoughts went to his darling Vanessa and his boy Dennis. He would grow up barely knowing his father. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Ringwald summoned up all the strength he could and sent his famous right hook up to the face of the beast. When he was in university, it seemed that Charles would go on to be a champion boxer. Seems he hadn't lost it like he’d thought. The fist flew fast and true. It connected with the wrinkled face of this crooked man and the head bobbed.

The man roared out whether in pain or annoyance was unclear. The spectacled hat that the thing wore had flown off from the punch revealed the rest of the features. Black sunken holes where eyes should be, wrinkles ordained the greyish flesh, no nose, only a mouth that was downturned into an angry frown. Those horrid teeth were gritted. Long arms raised up and came down hard as the pointed end of the umbrella now pierced the Inspector’s chest. Blood was coughed up, spitting up onto the creature’s face. An audible growl came now. “The man roared out whether in pain or annoyance was unclear. The spectacled hat that the thing wore had flown off from the punch revealed the rest of the features. Black sunken holes where eyes should be, wrinkles ordained the greyish flesh, no nose, only a mouth that was downturned into an angry frown. Those horrid teeth were gritted. Long arms raised up and came down hard as the pointed end of the umbrella now pierced the Inspector’s chest. Blood was coughed up, spitting up onto the creature’s face. An audible growl came now. “That was just rude mate. Blood rude.”

“Go fuck yourself…’mate’.” Ringwald managed to choke out. It would be the last thing he ever did however. The crooked figure’s maw unhinged very much like a snake and came down onto the Inspector. The black void of his mouth was the final sight for a man who had dedicated his life to the pursuit of justice and protecting the innocent.

Collecting his hat, the Crooked Man placed it back onto his head and wiped off the blood from his face with a handkerchief he had pulled from his pocket. “Is it done?” Came a voice so soft and so sweet that it pierced the dead silence like the man’s chest had been.

““Aye lass, you can come on out now.” Replied the Crooked Man who turned to face the voice. From the back of the attic a blonde little girl with pigtails and a blood covered pink dress stepped out. She reached out her small tender hand and grasped onto one the pale digits of her friend. With his free hand he gently patted the top of her head. He then scooped her up in his big arms and carried her back down to her bedroom.

“Where are we going?” Louise chirped.

““We’re going home dearie. Where no one can ever hurt you again.”

“Oh, that’s so nice. Thank you.” Louise said, giving her friend a gentle kiss on the cheek. The tall figure reached down and grabbed the Zoetrope that had carelessly been tossed on the floor. He rubbed it off with his sleeve and then began to turn the crank. When the music stopped the house was empty. No Crooked Man, no Louise, no Zoetrope, and no sign of Chief Inspector Ringwald.


End file.
